Tête à tête
by Grim Spectre Of Death
Summary: Charles and Erik have some unfinished business to attend to.   Slightly agnsty, Charles/Erik slash. Takes place years after X-men: First Class. Charles and Erik are in their forties. Also, there's a bit of Wolverine too :D


_Before ya start readin' this piece of cra... literature (!), let me tall ya somethin' - English is not my first language! Therefore, I would be eternally grateful if ya were kind enough to point out grammar or spelling mistakes if you notice them. I did spent 4 years in Ireland, but grammar is still pretty much black magic to me. So, please? :D _

_Anyways, to those who do not like SLASH - DON'T READ. I've no patience for haters, so kindly leave this fanfic NOW! Cheers. To the others - welcome and I hope you'll enjoy my baby here ^^ _

_Tête-à-tête_

Whenever Charles Xavier feels like teasing someone, he visits Logan. It's not that he doesn't like the man - on the contrary, he believes they have managed to create some sort of a friendship between them, although he is quite sure the other mutant would instantly claw his way through Charles' flesh without as much as a blink if he ever mentioned it out loud. No, Wolverine is not an expressive kind of a man, but he isn't made of stone either. Adamantium, yes. But not stone. Or, so Xavier hopes.

He wheels his way through the mansion, reaching out with his mind to locate its other inhabitants. The quiet murmur of their thoughts is comforting in a way, reminding him that he is not alone, that the voices are _not_ just his imagination. When he was younger, sometimes Charles doubted his powers, questioned their existence as any other human being would. It wasn't _normal_ to hear other's thoughts, to be able to reach into their memory, even to erase it if necessary. Then he met _Him _and everything changed. Charles watched Him order metal objects to float around in a chaotic dance when He was angry; heard the sound of a metal knife chopping the vegetables for them as they kissed passionately in the kitchen, Xavier sitting on the table top with His hands in his thinning hair. The hum of metal singing in His mind had been as comforting as the sound of other's thoughts is now, but different. Unique. Beautiful. Addictive. Charles could never get enough of that feeling and He had let him feed off Him, shared it generously like any devoted lover would.

Logan's mind is a completely different matter - his thoughts are unclear, chaotic, filled with pain and misery and confusion. His memories are simply flashes of unknown faces and places, tubes, wires, pipes and nameless people in white coats appearing here and there for a fraction of a second. Charles knows he could get lost in Logan's mind if he wasn't careful. But then, Wolverine rarely let him enter his mind and Xavier would rather eat his own brain than destroy the unsteady "trust-but-not-really" between them by forcing his way into Logan's head without permission.

Charles reaches out with his mind, this time focused on finding Wolverine. He smiles as his mind brushes lightly against the very edge of Logan's. He hears a muttered curse and a clutter of a fallen tool. _The garage then_, he thinks, smirking as his wheelchair makes its way through the silent corridors.

The Professor knows Logan can probably smell him at the distance of few dozens of meters - the other mutant often complained that Charles has a very distinctive scent which almost covers the odor of others. Xavier likes to think it's his _power_ Logan can smell and Wolverine never said otherwise.

"There's only one other mutant with such smell, Chuck. And it ain't Jean", he said once, waxing his motorbike, a cigar between his thin, firm lips bobbing up and down as he spoke. Charles knows Logan was talking about Eri... _Him, _knows only _His _power can be equal to his. They werethe leaders, fathers of mutants, their teachers and mentors. If only they were able to put aside their differences, to work together for the acceptance of mutant kind, to allow ordinary people to _see _and understand how profitable their powers could be for the society...

"What d'ya want, Chuck? I'm busy." A gruff greeting is enough to pull Charles from the unwanted thoughts and he smiles gratefully, carefully navigating his way through abandoned tools on the stone floor. Wolverine's motorbike stands in the other end of the room, as far from Scott's car as possible and Xavier smiles at the symbolism - the animosity between the two mutants is amusing, although sometimes slightly worrying. Nevertheless, Charles knows that both are able to put aside their differences whenever the situation arises.

"I am merely visiting a friend," Xavier answers smoothly, watching a frown appearing on other man's face.

"Right," Logan mutters, rising up from under the bike and wiping his hands with an equally dirty piece of rag which, Charles is quite sure, used to be Scott's favourite t-shirt. His clothes are smeared with grease oil, black smudges adoring also his cheeks and forehead, and for a second Xavier thinks Logan looks adorable. As if sensing the nature of professor's thoughts, Wolverine growls deep in his throat warningly, narrowing his cold, fierce blue eyes. Xavier laughs quietly, apologizing silently with a small nod.

Logan stretches, his spine popping loudly enough for Charles to hear (he _hates_ that sound and he knows Logan is also quite aware of that) and reaches for a bottle of beer standing on the small table nearby. Xavier watches Logan drink with relish, clearly enjoying every gulp, and says:

"You remind me of a cat I used to have. Her name was Daisy."

It's extremely hard to keep a straight face as Wolverine chokes and sputters on his beer, Charles finds, and he rubs his lips with his fingers to keep from laughing. Finally, Logan takes a deep, shaky breath, wipes his sweaty forehead and _glares_ at Charles, clenching his fists.

"D'ya wanna kill me, or what?" he hisses, seeing the telepath's smile.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Logan," Xavier assures him, his voice betraying his amusement.

"Sure ya wouldn't", Wolverine murmurs, throwing the rag on Scott's recently washed car. It slides down the mask, leaving black smudges in its wake. Xavier looks at him with disapproval. Logan chooses to ignore it. "Now, what d'ya really want, bub? I'm sick 'n' tired of all 'em games, so ya might get straight to the point. Ya wanna talk or what? I ain't got time, ya know. Stuff to do 'n' no time to do 'em."

Charles sighs quietly, his playful mood slowly diminishing.

"I simply thought you would appreciate company. I see I was quite mistaken."

Logan rolls his eyes, clenching and unclenching his fists with annoyance.

"That's not what I meant, Chuck, and ya know it!"

Xavier smiles weakly, looking up to meet Wolverine's wild eyes.

"Yes, yes of course I do," he says, and the chair standing on the other side of the room slides towards them smoothly, stopping few centimeters from Logan's leg. "Please, sit."

Reluctantly, Logan obeys. Charles can tell the other man is extremely uncomfortable, probably sensing somehow the nature of their soon-to-be discussion. Or rather, Charles' wallowing in self-pity. Ah, well. He'll survive. He always does.

"If ya ask me if I ever feel lonely, Chuck, I'll gauge yer eyes out," Wolverine warns him off-handedly, and it's Xavier's turn to glare. Logan smirks.

"Well, do you?"

Wolverine shrugs, but doesn't answer. His eyes are as cold and fierce as always, and Charles can't read anything from them. If only he could get a peek...

"Don't even think about it, bub," Logan murmurs, taking out his cigar. He lit it, inhaling the think cloud of smoke and exhaling it after a second with a blissful expression on his usually closed-off face. Charles takes a deep breath, enjoying the comforting scent of burnt tobacco and something that always reminds him of Logan, and smiles.

"You know I wouldn't do it without your permission, my friend."

Logan waves his hand dismissively and frowns, peering at Charles strangely.

"Nah, I suppose ya wouldn't. So, what d'ya want, huh? Company? _Conversation_?" The last word is pronounced as if Logan couldn't quite believe he even knows its meaning and Xavier laughs out loud this time. Logan's eyes soften at the sound and the corners of his mouth turn up slightly for a second.

"A _conversation_ would be nice, Logan", Charles says. Seeing a frown forming between the other's eyebrows he adds: "If you don't mind, that is."

Wolverine sighs, taking another long gulp of his beer. _Dutch courage_, Charles thinks loudly and Logan glares at him.

"I've a feelin' I'm gonna need it, bub," he says. He narrows his eyes as if contemplating something then gets up from his chair and moves to the fridge standing in the corner. "Ya want one?"

Xavier's eyebrows rise slightly and he blinks.

"Are you offering me _beer, _Logan? Are you feeling quite alright?" he teases, a smile lurking in the corners of his eyes.

"Well?" Wolverine doesn't rise to the bite and Charles nods slowly, accepting the cold bottle from the other man's big, warm hand as he settles himself once again in his chair.

They sit in silence, sipping slowly their drinks, Xavier grimacing slightly at the bitter taste. Suddenly, he doesn't know what to say, where to start. Logan sighs, leaning forward in his seat and he peers at the professor with an unreadable expression on his face.

"It's about Magneto, isn't it?"

Charles hates that name. Oh, how he hates it. Magneto is an enemy, dangerous killer. Not his... not _Erik_, not the man he had known. Erik is long dead now, replaced by someone who knows no compassion nor mercy.

A sharp stab of pain leaves Charles breathless and he blinks quickly for a moment, shocked to feel wetness gathering in his eyes. He clears his throat awkwardly and nods, not looking at the other man.

Logan leans back again, his long legs sprawled in front of him in a nonchalant pose, but Xavier can see tension in his shoulders and muscular arms. Silence falls between them again, but it is not as comfortable anymore and Charles struggles to find something to say and end it.

"We... we were friends a long time ago, Eri..." _Not Him, not Him_. "_Magneto _and I.

Wolverine nods. There is nothing on his face that would betray his surprise... or lack of it - it's completely neutral, and Charles have never been more grateful in his life.

He takes a sip of his drink and sighs, rubbing his forehead. He can feel Logan's eyes on him, watching his every move.

"We were more than just friends," he admits finally, closing his eyes.

"Lovers," Wolverine doesn't ask and Xavier exhales heavily with relief. There is no judgment in the other man's voice, no disgust or anger.

"Yes. Yes, we _were_ lovers."

_Were. _The word causes him more pain than anything, still after all those years of loneliness and doubt. Charles can't deny missing Erik, just like he can't deny loving him. Because he does, he loves Him more than anything and anyone else, even himself, and misses him more than he can possibly say. But _his_ Erik is gone, replaced by a monster. Sometimes, Charles thinks it would be easier for him if Erik were dead.

"Ya loved him," Logan says, getting up and moving towards Charles' wheelchair. Xavier looks up to meet his eyes.

"Yes", he answers and realizes his voice is no more than a weak whisper.

Breath hitches in his throat. He looks down and blinks quickly, trying to fight tears that threaten to spill.

"Ya still do," Logan continues, reaching out and touching his arm lightly. Xavier leans into him, propping his forehead against Wolverine's hip and exhales shakily.

"Yes."

They stay in this position for some time. Logan's presence is comfortable as Charles tries to pull himself back together, silent and strong, and Xavier thinks Wolverine may be the only person in the Institute who understands him. It feels remarkably good to trust again like this, to share his pain with someone who won't judge him for who and what he is.

"Ya better not be cryin' on me, Chuck, this one's my favourite shirt."

Charles laughs wetly, relieved that his cheeks are still dry. He leans back into his wheelchair and smiles gratefully at the other man. Wolverine nods shortly, his face unreadable, and turns around, empty beer bottle still in his hand.

"I better get back to work, bub. See yerself out, will ya."

Xavier shakes his head with amusement at the gruff dismissal.

"Of course. I see your dear lady needs more pampering," he says, nodding towards Logan's beloved motorbike gleaming in the light. Wolverine growls loudly and Professor laughs again, recognizing the warning. The wheelchair moves towards the door, but stops at the threshold.

"Thank you, my friend," Charles says quietly. Clutter of tools is his only answer and he chuckles, letting the door close behind his with a soft click.

On the next day, Logan is nowhere to be found.

Charles isn't worried when Wolverine leaves the Institute once in a while. He knows the other man needs to spend some time alone, to relax away from the school, kids and Xavier himself. It doesn't particularly offend him, but the absence of Logan's mind nearby feels extremely odd, and after three days Charles becomes agitated.

On the fourth day, his mind brushes against something strange and terrifyingly familiar, and he cancels classes for the rest of the day, wanting the students out of the Institute and out of possible harm's way.

He waits in his bedroom with his back to the window, reading to kill time. Words on the pages are a blur, making no sense whatsoever, and he's about to give up when the window behind him opens and a man slides in, his precious mind protected from Charles' powers by a helmet.

"Where is Logan?" Xavier asks, not ready to turn around and face his enemy. There is a rustle of cloth as the man sits down in a chair next to the chessboard.

"You'll have him checkmated in three moves," he says, and Charles closes his eyes at the sound of his rich, deep voice. The distinctive accent is still there, almost unnoticeable. But Charles knows this voice too well to miss it.

"I would appreciate if you refrained from aiding me. Hank would be sorely disappointed if I cheated."

He hears a snort but refuses to smile.

"Where is Logan?" he repeats, a hard note in his voice.

"Don't worry about your pet. He's safe and sound, probably on his way back now."

Charles exhales deeply with relief and finally turns around to face his guest.

Magneto is sitting near the chessboard in his usual attire, helmet firmly in place. His long fingers are wrapped around a white knight, tracing its shape absentmindedly. His face is half hidden in the shadows, but Charles can see the familiar curve of his jaw, mouth and nose and he almost forgets how to breathe. Almost.

"What are you doing here?" he asks quietly, forcing his body to relax. Magneto smirks.

"Visiting an old friend, of course. Won't you offer me a drink?"

"What would you like?" Charles asks politely, his voice devoid of any emotion, and Magneto looks at him strangely.

"Scotch, if you please."

Of course. _He_ always drank Scotch, ever since Xavier could remember, and it's no wonder Magneto's tastes in alcohol are the same. After all, they _are _one and the same person, and it would be wiser not to forget that fact.

The bottle sails smoothly towards the glass and pours its content under Magneto's watchful eye. The glass then slides towards him and settles firmly in his hand. Magneto's eyebrow shots up. Ah... a little bit too firmly then.

"You have your drink," Charles says after a moment of silence. "Tell me what is it you want."

Magneto hesitates, watching his scotch twirling in the glass. Finally, he clears his throat and looks up to gaze at Charles' face. His steel-like eyes are unreadable as they pierce through Xavier's.

"All I want is a..._conversation_." The word is spat out, reminding the Professor of another man who used it only four days ago. Coincidence? Doubtful.

"Conversation," Charles repeats, a deep sense of betrayal worming it's way into his mind. Logan had gone to see Magneto, that's obvious. But did he tell him everything? That he... that he still...

"Yes." Magneto's voice interrupts the train of Xavier's thoughts. "It was brought to my attention that you and I have some... ah, unfinished business to attend to."

Xavier shakes his head slowly. He straightens in his chair, meeting Magneto's eyes with determination. His fists clench involuntarily.

"You come to my house," he says quietly, fiercely, "uninvited and _unwelcome_, and you ask... no, you _demand_ a conversation?"

Silence falls between them, thick and dangerous. Suddenly, the glass in Magneto's hand jerks away from him and zooms across the room to stand in its original place on Charles' desk. Magneto's silver eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I trust you'll find your own way out," Xavier says, his voice cold and emotionless. He leans back in his chair and turns towards the door. Before he can reach the threshold, however, his wheelchair gives a sudden yank and moves back sharply.

"Do _not _turn away from me, _Charles_," Magneto snarls, taking a step towards the other man.

Xavier's bitter laugh seems to surprise both of them, but at this moment Charles is far beyond the point of caring. He's angry, more angry than he remembers being in his entire life, and it feels so bloody good...

"Turn away from you just like _you _hadturned away from _me_ all those years ago, _Erik_?" he asks fiercely, wheeling even closer to the other mutant. He hates the way he has to look up to face Magneto, cursing his disability for the first time in many years.

Magneto seems to be shocked seeing Charles' anger, but he quickly regains his equilibrium. His silver eyebrows twist into a frown and a sneer finds its way onto his lips.

"I turned away from you? Me? It was you who..."

"Oh, please!" Charles interrupts him loudly, "Don't give me that, Erik. We both know it was _you_ who decided it would be "_more beneficial" _for the mutant kind if we separated! You, not me!"

"You agreed!"

"What else was I supposed to say? _'Please, Erik, stay'_?"

"Your pride always..."

"Don't blame it on _my _pride, Erik, don't you dare!"

"I would have stayed if you said you wanted me to!"

"That's a lie, we both know it! And even if you did stay then, you'd eventually hate me for it!"

They fall silent after that, both surprised at the outburst. Charles is staring at his "guest", chest heaving. He can't remember when was the last time he really, truly yelled at someone, but the shouting match between them reduced his anger to merely a painful throb.

Erik shakes his head slowly, rising his hands to his head. Grasping the edges of his helmet, he takes it off slowly, letting Charles' starved mind to brush against his own. It feels like coming home and Xavier basks in the warmth of Erik's mind, the quiet hum of metal around him as thrilling as he remembers.

"I could never hate you, Charles," Erik says quietly, his gaze fixed on something above Xavier's shoulder. After a moment, his grey eyes move hesitantly to Charles', uncertain and guarded, as if he expected to be ridiculed for his breathtaking honesty.

Charles stares at him, speechless, his eyes moving restlessly, memorizing every new wrinkle that appeared on His handsome face over the years. God, how long has it been since he saw Him for the last time? They were so young then, young and brave and stupid, and so very naive in their own ways...

"You talk the talk, Erik," he says slowly, trying (and failing) not to notice a spark of amusement in the other's eyes, "but do you walk the walk?"

At the moment the last word left his mouth, his mind brushes against Magneto's firmly but without breaking in. Erik's lips thin into a straight line, his eyebrows are drawn together and Charles already knows the answer.

"I said I could never hate you," Erik repeats, watching Xavier warily. "I never said I trust you."

Seeing Charles' face fall with disappointment and twist into a pained grimace, Magneto sighs, sitting down again in his chair near the chessboard.

"I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't invade my mind without permission. But I cannot risk it, Charles," he says quietly, regretfully. He shakes his head, silver strands of his thick, healthy hair falling unruly onto his forehead. Charles longs to brush it back to it's proper place, but stops himself from reaching out. "I cannot. No matter how much I want you... to do it."

Xavier feels his cheeks flush and clears his throat awkwardly. They sit in silence again, looking at anything but each other. Finally, after what seems like hours, Erik rises from his chair again and moves closer to Charles's wheelchair. He stops then, as if unsure what to do next, and Xavier holds his breath.

Magneto bends slowly and kneels in front of the wheelchair.

"Charles, I..." he pauses, shaking his head as if to clear it. The professor swallows thickly and reaches out, touching carefully Erik's soft, silver hair.

It has the same texture as he remembers and something akin to a sob escapes his suddenly dry throat. Erik leans hesitantly into the touch, moving his head to the side so he can press his lips against Xavier's palm and they both shiver at the contact.

"Every day... every _night _I have longed to see you, to touch you, to... _kiss_ you again," Magneto whispers hurriedly, as if afraid his voice would fail him. Xavier simply nods, unable to say anything.

"Look at us, my dearest friend," Erik continues, a small note of amusement entering his shaky voice. "Two old men trying to change the world, and for what price...?"

"We are not _old," _Charlesmurmurs and smiles when the other mutant snorts faintly. "Forty-two is not that old, Erik."

"No, I suppose it isn't." Magneto rises his hands to Charles' face but stops inches from Xavier's face. "I need to feel your skin against my own," he whispers. "Just this once_, please..." _

Charles nods and Erik hastily takes off the heavy gloves from his hands. His long fingers are slightly thinner, but as soft and delicate-looking as Charles remembers.

He reaches out to touch Charles again and this time the tips of his fingers collide slowly with Xavier's cheeks. Erik's hands are warm and strong as he shakily moves them along the other man's face, tracing his jaw, nose, cheekbones, eyebrows and finally his lips, caressing the soft mouth with utmost care.

"You are... as exquisite as I remember," he whispers with awe, staring at Charles and barely blinking, as if he was afraid the professor would simply disappear if he dared to break the contact.

Xavier laughs quietly, and Magneto's eyes soften and narrow slightly with pleasure.

"You must be completely blind then, my friend," he says, moving his hands along the silver strands of silky hair. Erik shakes his head.

"Being bald suits you," he murmurs, letting his fingers caress Xavier's scalp. "Makes you look... professional."

"Professional and old," Charles adds, smiling faintly. Magneto laughs and the rich, deep timbre of his voice fills Xavier's mind with a feeling of infinite contentment. His eyes are glued to Erik's face, afraid to move away. He sighs as the other's thumbs slowly caress his cheeks, as if trying to memorize the texture and softness of his skin.

"You have no idea, Charles... no idea..." Magneto pauses and swallows thickly, resting his cheek against Xavier's palm.

The professor leans forward in his wheelchair, tilting Erik's head upwards slightly. Now he's the one looking down at the other and he finds their position remarkably fitting, like an unclear but cherished memory or a dream finally becoming a reality.

Charles bends down slowly, narrowing his eyes with pleasure as Erik's warm breath mingles with his own, and rests his lips against the other man's forehead, caressing and straightening the pronounced frown lines marking soft skin.

Magneto exhales deeply. A shudder races along his spine and then lower to his shaking knees as Xavier's lips move down to the bridge of his nose, his cheeks and his jaw, carefully avoiding slightly quivering lips.

Finally, after what feels like eternity, Charles' mouth slide slowly against his own and they both shiver. Erik's hands clench the professor's shoulders like claws, painfully, a reminder of who they are supposed to be, and then relax as Charles' lips press firmly alongside his own.

_Right now we're Charles and Erik. Not Professor X and Magneto, _Xavier thinks loudly and Erik moans quietly, opening slightly his lips to allow Charles' tongue to enter his mouth. They don't fight for dominance, letting the kiss remain slow and chaste, their tongues wrestling lazily. Charles' fingers find their way into Erik's silver hair, caressing silky strands tenderly and Magneto almost purrs into the other's mouth. _It feels remarkably good to kiss someone while smiling_, Charles decides and Erik laughs in his mind.

A sudden knock on Charles' door causes them to jump apart like startled teenagers.

"Chuck, are ya in there?", Logan's gruff voice is slightly muffled by the heavy oak doors, but his impatience is evident.

Magneto stands up quickly, his hand still touching Xavier's face. He looks at him in silence for a moment, regret written across his face, then bends down and kisses him once again, hard and desperate.

"I'll be back," he promises, stepping away reluctantly and grabbing his helmet.

"You better be," Charles whispers back, wincing when the comforting hum of metal disappears as soon as the helmet touches Magneto's head. His alone in his mind again and the emptiness almost chokes him. Erik's hand grab his once again and squeeze in comfort, and Charles takes a deep breath, smiling weakly.

"Charles? Answer me, I know yer there!"

"Go," Charles says, even though his mind is screaming 'stay!'

Magneto nods slowly, kisses him for the last time and suddenly Xavier is alone in the room.

"Come in, Logan," he calls, and the door burst open, revealing panting Wolverine. He walks towards Charles, then stops and sniffs the air like a dog.

Then he growls furiously.

"_Magneto," _he snaps, looking around the room as if he expected his enemy to jump from behind the couch any second now.

"He's gone, Logan," Xavier assures him, pressing his hand to his cheek. It still seems to tingle from where Erik touched him only seconds ago .

"What did he want?"

Charles rises an eyebrow, smiling faintly.

"Are you trying to tell me you don't know?"

Wolverine looks at him questioningly.

"What are ya talkin' about, bub?"

Xavier frowns, gazing at Logan thoughtfully. Then he smiles widely and chuckles lightly.

"So, you didn't go to him?"

Wolverine snorts with disgust and clenches his fists, letting the tips of his adamantium blades to appear from between his knuckles.

"Why would I go to him, eh, Chuck? For _tea_?" Something changes in Logan's eyes and his face twists into a snarl, "Or did ya think I betrayed ya?"

The professor shakes his head, wheeling closer to the man.

"No, Logan, I know you would never..."

"What, bite the hand that feeds me?" Logan interrupts and Xavier can hear hurt in the other mutant's voice.

"I know you would never jeopardize our friendship, not for anything." He slowly extends his hand and grabs Wolverine forearm, tightening his grip slightly for reassurance. "I trust you."

Logan stares at him for a while, clearly at loss of words, then growls quietly and shakes Charles' hand off his arm.

"Yeah, whatever." His embarrassment is somehow amusing and the telepath smiles lightly.

"Well then, it seems Magn... _Erik _came to me on his own free will."

The thought causes his heart to beat faster and he laughs quietly, delighted.

"So it's 'Erik' now, is it? Are ya guys gonna be all chummy now?"

Charles smiles widely, shaking his head.

"Erik and I still have some issues to discuss. But I believe we're closer to reestablishing our previous relationship than we were only few hours ago. With time, who knows, there may even be peace between mutants."

Wolverine barks a short laugh and turns around, making his way towards the door. He stops at the threshold and looks at Charles over his shoulder.

"I don't think peace was ever an option, Chuck."

Charles laughs as the doors close behind Wolverine and wheels closer to the chessboard. He picks up the white knight, gazing at it thoughtfully for a moment, then sets it down on the board again.

"Check."


End file.
